Forbidden Love
by Readephant
Summary: After Haymitch Abernathy won the second Quarter Quell, Effie Trinket had been in love with him. She signed up to be District 12's escort so she could get closer to Haymitch, but will Haymitch return her feelings, or will she be rejected?
1. Every Year

**Hi guys, this is my first story. I feel like Haymitch and Effie are a very unrecognized ship so I decided to dedicate this story to them. I love getting constructive criticism, but if you don't like the plot, please keep your thoughts to yourself. Thanks, now without further ado, let the first chapter of Forbidden Love, BEGIN!** **  
Note: I do not own this world or characters. I only own the plot, words, and a laptop.**

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Chapter 1-Every year

Effie

I sit on the train, watching the landscape fly by in a whirlwind of greens and browns. The sky is clear, but is hardly noticeable, since the speed of the train is so fast. As I pass District 11, I can see the blur of workers in the fields and all the crops that they have worked so hard to grow.

I hear a gunshot. But I know that it wasn't a deer that was killed. It's illegal to hunt in the District's. President Snow keeps all the people of Panem, minus the Capitol, locked up in their home District with electric gates. The only way you get out, is if you get reaped. And you don't want to get reaped.

No, the gunshot came from a Peacekeeper. More like Peacewreakers. They kill the poor innocent people in the District's for pretty much no reason. But I'm privileged. I live in the Capitol. I don't have to work or deal with those menacing Peacekeepers. The Districts say that we're stupid. That we don't have a mind of our own. Well, I'd like them to know that at least _I_ have a brain. I mean, why else would I go to District 12 every year?

My dab of genius started when I was 14. I was sitting in my bedroom, watching the second quarter quell, shipping all the hot boys with myself. Then, ranking the girls according to clothes. It was time for District 12 to give their interviews. I started to zone out. After all, no one hot ever comes from District 12. But then, I saw him. Haymitch Abernathy sat down next to Caesar Flickerman. Haymitch was the handsomest tribute I'd ever seen. His blonde hair swept across his face in a sparkling mess. He didn't smile, which made me love him more.

"So, Haymitch," said Caesar, "What do you think of this Quarter Quell? I mean, there are double the amount of tributes."

"There might be twice as many," said Haymitch, still without a smile. "But that doesn't make them any smarter."

Caesar looked astonished. He didn't think that a boy this young could have the nerve to say something like that. Especially not in front of the same bunch that is most likely going to kill him in a couple of days. But Haymitch didn't seem phased at all. He only sat up straighter and said, "Now, can I go now?"

I would pay a million dollars to see the look on Caesar's at that moment again. But, he quickly recovers with a, "How about a hand for District 12's second male tribute, Haymitch Abernathy."

The crowed hesitantly erupted into a sea of applause. But it was obviously only halfhearted. District 12 never does get a wholehearted applause. But this was a different kind of halfhearted. Imagine having to clap for a , who just said that all your favorite actors and actresses were idiots. That's the kind of applause that Haymitch got. But that didn't seem to affect him. Haymitch stood up and walked off the stage.

From that moment, I knew that he would be the winner the second Quarter Quell. He was too smart and confident to lose. I also knew that every year I would be the escort for District 12, no matter what anyone else says.

The moment that axe sank into the girl from District 1's head, I ran down to President Snow's mansion and signed up to be District 12's next escort. The President gave me some weird looks. Like, walking out in public without a stylish outfit kind of weird. No one signs up to be the escort for District 12. Not even the current one. He was pulled out of the waiting list for District 1. Needless to say, once I was 20, I was sent out to District 12. Every year for the rest of my life, I would pick the tributes and bring them back to the Capitol.

I never knew what it was like. Living in the Districts. Long story short, it's terrible. District 12's Peacekeeper's are pretty lenient. But I can't say the same for the other Districts. I've seen people being murdered for no reason. Thousands starving, trying to feed people in the Capitol who abuse their work. Children without laughter, and adults who die because they are forced to work for Snow.

That's another thing. Ever since I left the Capitol I don't call him _President_ Snow. Just, Snow. I'm not blind. I know he's been doing all of this. He could stop the suffering if he wanted to. But the truth is, he doesn't want to. He enjoys having blood on his hands. He's just a sick, twisted, human being. If, you can call him that.

But I don't quit my job. It keeps me from getting sucked into the Capitol's lies. Plus, every year I get to see Haymitch. Even if most of the time he's drunk, and not planning on getting sober anytime soon.

My train of thought is disrupted by the sudden stop of the train. I stand up and brush off my spring green dress. I take a step towards the door, the clack of my heels sound hollow on the mahogany floors. The doors open in front of me, revealing the dirty, broken, District 12. Families walk towards the town center, knowing that the two that get reaped today with probably be receiving their death sentence. No one has won from District 12 since Haymitch. And only one other person had won before that.

They don't know how to fight. They barely know how to stay alive. There is no hope in District 12. Not from the young or the old. But despite all of this, I put on my award winning Capitol smile and step out of the train.


	2. Sobriety Just Won't Come

**Note: I do not own this world or characters. I only own the plot, words, and a laptop.**

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Chapter 2- Sobriety just won't come  
Haymitch

24 years ago today, I died. Correction, every important part of me died. My actual, physical body though, (unfortunately) is very much alive.

But, for 24 years, I have watched people from my District follow the same fate as I did. Except for the fact that they actually stopped breathing. But, what they didn't realize, is that they were actually the lucky ones. They didn't have to suffer everything that I did. I'm not talking about almost bleeding to death (which is not a fun experience, and I would not recommend it). No, I'm talking about what happens after The Games.

Snow forced the life of an alcoholic onto me. I followed all the known rules of The Games, and then he wrecked my life. Killed my mom, girlfriend, and little brother. Then, since he's just that evil, I was sent to live in The "Victor's" Village to drown in my tears and grief, alone.

But even all Snow's crap wasn't enough to turn me into an alcoholic. It was her. I remember the day like it was yesterday. The 56th Reaping was about to begin. I was beginning to get the hang of this "mentor" thing. Then she walked onto the stage. Effie Trinket had a sea foam green dress on, with little 3-D fish making up the skirt. Her hair was blue within pieces of seaweed woven into it.

I didn't realize my mouth was hanging open until she called my name to deliver the speech. I was dazed, and didn't know what to do. So, I decided to sit there and stare like a complete idiot. "Come on," she said, like she was talking to a tribute. "I won't bite."

I wanted to say, 'Well duh,' people from The Capitol would hurt a fly. That is, besides Snow, and The Gamemakers (they would put the fly population into extinction if they could). Instead, I stood up and made my way onto the stage. She was smiling now, and I smiled back. Her eyes were so beautiful, so beautifully blue. Her perfectly white smile made you forget where you were. "Make your speech Haymitch," she whispered without breaking her smile. "You look like an idiot."

"Um," I said, only half processing what she said to me. "Win, 12, yeah."

That was the stupidest thing I ever said. "Let's give a round of applause for former victor, Haymitch Abernathy," she said, and in all most an afterthought. "And his extremely wise words of advice."

Again, I couldn't move. Peacekeepers had to come up on the stage and drag me off. I decided then and there that I never wanted to do that again. The moment we got on that train, I ran straight for the alcohol cabinet and never looked back. I haven't gotten sober since.

Now, it's The Reaping of the 74th, and I am once again drowning myself in alcohol. Not enough to kill me, but just enough to keep my attention off of Effie. I stumble my way to the town center and plop down on the mentor chair.

Man, I'm drunk. So drunk, I barely hear the pained applause of the audience in front of me. I'm an embarrassment to them. Always have been. Always will be.

There's a girl in the back, about 16, staring at me. Her brown hair is pulled into a braid on the side of her head, and she is wearing a pretty blue dress. Beside her is a girl with two blonde braids, around 12, with her hand tightly clasped around the older girl's. I don't know what to do, so I stand up, trying to look official. But, since I told you I was drunk, I let the hazy alcoholic wonderland overtake me. The next thing I know, my arms are clinging to Effie, and she is trying to pry me off.

"Now," says the mayor, trying to avert Panem's focus off of me, and back to The Reaping. "Without further ado, I will welcome Ms. Effie Trinket from The Capitol."

There is no applause. Why applaud the woman who will send you and your neighbor's to certain death? Effie rises and takes the mic. "Happy Hunger Games," she says. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Effie walks over to the two big, glass balls. One for the girls, one for the boys. "Ladies first."

Her hand dives into the ball, and starts swirling the names around. Wow, even while sentencing two helpless kids to certain death, she looks hot. Finally, she pulls out a slip of paper. It's so quiet, you can hear the District's collective intake of breath. Effie walks over to the podium, heels clacking on the stage. She takes a deep breath and says, "Primrose Everdeen."

The brown haired girl from before looks dumbfounded. She looks like she's about to faint, but a boy quickly catches her. The crowd murmurs unhappily, as the blonde girl with two braids emerges from the crowd. She walks toward the stage with small, stiff, steps. Poor girl. She never had a chance.

"Prim!" comes a voice from the audience. Everyone stares at the brown haired girl. Everyone except for Primrose, who keeps making her way to the stage. "Prim!" The kids in front of the girl make a path from her to the stage. As she pushes through, I see a determination that I've never seen in anyone before. She's going to volunteer. I know it.

She reaches Prim, and pulls her behind her. "I volunteer," she says. "I volunteer as tribute!"

If it was possible for District 12 to get any quieter than before, it did. District 12 hasn't had a volunteer in decades. We aren't like District's 1, 2, and 3, where people volunteer as tribute like children volunteer for the last slice of cake. No, in District 12 you might as well go into that train already in a coffin. It would save sometime.

"Lovely!" says Effie. She sounds cheerful, but you can see the tears getting ready to pour out from her eyes. "But, I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..." she trails off, unsure of the rules.

"What does it matter?" says the mayor, eyeing the volunteer with eyes of recognition. "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

Prim starts screaming behind the volunteer. She wraps her arms around her, and doesn't look like she's going to ever let go. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

"Prim, let go," the volunteer, Katniss, says. If you look close enough, you can see the tears trying to fight their way out of her eyes. "Let go!"

A boy, about 18, with brown hair pushes his way through the crowd. He grabs Prim around her waist and pries her off of Katniss's body. He locks eyes with her and says, "Up you go Catnip," before turning around and carrying Prim's struggling body away.

Katniss climbs the stairs, and stands next to Effie. "Well, bravo!" says Effie. She's so cheerful that, if you didn't know her, you wouldn't believe that she was on the verge of crying. "That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," says Katniss.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister," says Effie. "Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" Katniss doesn't answer, and Effie really doesn't want her to. "Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

No one claps. Not one person. They probably knew her, or her parents, or maybe even Prim. So, no one claps, not even my drunken self. But then, one by one, everyone in the square holds up their 3 middle fingers. I smile. This symbol means admiration, and good-bye. We might actually win this year.

I look and Katniss, and see that she is about to cry. I have to do something. She cannot be seen as a weakling. I stand up and struggle to keep myself upright as I walk towards Katniss. "Look at her," I say, throwing my arms around her. "Look at this one! I like her!" My vision starts to blacken at the edges, and I know I'm going to pass out. "Lots of..." I struggle to find the words as the alcohol takes over, making me say whatever is on my mind. Only an idiot would say what I'm about to say. "Spunk! More than you!" I walk to center stage, and point at the camera that is broadcasting this, live, to The Capitol. "More than you!"

As I get ready to say something else, I fall off the stage. The blackness that was lingering on the outside of my vision, encases the rest of my eyes. The alcohol has won again, and I fall into a long, dreamless, sleep.


	3. The Reaping

**Note: I do not own this world or characters. I only own the plot, words, and a laptop.**

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The Reaping

Effie

He just had to fall off the stage, didn't he? Of all the things he could've done, he decides to fall off the stage! Sometimes that man infuriates me. If only he wouldn't drink. I could take him to a AIP (which stands for Alcoholics in Public, the new Alcoholics Anonymous). But no. Instead he decides to fall off the stage and pass out, letting the medics carry him away.

I try not to let my brain wander too long, so I go back to the ceremony. "What an exciting day!" I say, suddenly remembering that my wig in crooked, and fixing it. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose the boy tribute!" I place one hand on my wig as I cross over to the boy's ball. I pull out a piece of paper and cross back over to the podium. "Peeta Mellark."

I notice Katniss flinch next to me, as a boy with a stocky build and ashy blonde hair makes his way toward the stage. She must know him. They always know each other. It just makes it sadder.

I feel my tears slowly crawling back up to my eyes. That's the hardest part of this job, you know? Keeping the tears from falling. _Just don't look at the faces_. I tell myself. _Just smile and continue the ceremony._ "Any volunteer's?" I ask.

No one raises their hands. No one rushes to the stage. The words "I volunteer as tribute," aren't even close to reaching any of the boy's mouths. This isn't unusual. No one ever volunteer's. Katniss was just a once in a millennia fluke.

As the mayor starts reading the Treaty of Treason, my mind wonders. It's with Haymitch, who they've probably taken to the train, and placed in a random bedroom. His white shirt, which he probably hasn't changed since last year, stained with alcohol. I hate it when he drinks. It's like he's given up on life. Like he wants to get it over with and die already. But I haven't given up, so I won't let him give up, either.

The anthem plays, signaling that the speech is over. I snap back into reality, and watch as Peeta and Katniss are whisked away by Peacekeepers. Now they will say, most likely, good bye to their families for the last time.

As for me, I head back to the train. I don't want to cry, so I don't look at their eyes. Not the small ones, the old ones, the wise ones, or the ones that have been lost for years. I don't look at any of them, but I can feel them digging into me. Begging to be acknowledged.

I reach the train, and walk down the seemingly endless hallway. The door at the end is slightly ajar. I peek inside, and see Haymitch sleeping soundlessly on the bed in the corner. I walk over to his bed, and sit next to it. I immediately take back the soundless comment, as he lets out a huge snort.

I giggle a little, and that causes the dam holding back my tears to break. I grab his hand, and sob. I sob for Katniss. I sob for Peeta. They never even had a chance.

Next, I sob for Prim. The love and emotion that came with the words, "I volunteer," was enough to break anyone's heart. Anyone could tell that neither one of them wanted the other to go to the Capitol. But Katniss did the right thing. Little Prim wouldn't have survived a minute in that arena.

I bring Haymitch's hard, muscly hand up to my mouth and sob for him. I wouldn't be sitting here if it weren't for him. I've sacrificed so much for him, and what does he give me? He gives me an unconscious alcoholic on a train.

I didn't even realize I was angry until the screaming started. "Damn you Haymitch," I yell, letting go of his hand and standing up. "I didn't have to come to District 12! I didn't have to pick the names of everyone who is due to die in this stupid District! I could've lived a normal, happy, ignorant life in the Capitol! But you just had to get reaped, didn't you?"

I turn and walk toward the door. As I reach the hallway, I pause and say, "Damn you for pulling me in and spitting me out."

Haymitch snores again, but this time it isn't funny. I just keep walking down the hallway until I reach my room. Then, I fall on my bed and sob. If they still had the Guinness World Records, I would win the award for most sobbing.

I'm so caught up in my own sucky life, I barely notice the train doors open, and the new tributes walking in. Once the door closes, we're moving again. Moving toward the Capitol, where I'll have to spend 3 whole weeks with an alcoholic who doesn't even care about me.

At that moment I think of a line that I never really thought much of until now. I never thought it would ever play apart in my own life. But right now it plays over and over in my head like a broken CD. _"Let The Games Begin."_


End file.
